


our bruises are coming but we will never fold

by thesaddestboner



Series: Author's Favorites [17]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Codependency, Established Relationship, Idiot manchildren, M/M, Mildly Unhealthy Relationships, Rough Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: James wants—





	our bruises are coming but we will never fold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blastellanos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/gifts).



> Oh god, this is not at all what I should have been working on. I started writing this in the middle of working on a 40k thing, thinking this would just be a fun, short PWP diversion from that fic and then... 20k later... 
> 
> Anyway, I owe my life to [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[**blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/) , who let me spam her with nearly 60k of fic in DMs, and [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aitoheiwa/profile)[**aitoheiwa**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aitoheiwa/) who looked this over for me and offered terrific advice (and also managed to talk me out of tearing it apart and starting over).
> 
> Title from "Silver Lining," by Rilo Kiley.
> 
>  **Additional warnings:** They're both kind of dense idiots at times, though José is slightly more self-aware. This leads to perhaps not entirely healthy or wise conduct. There's also the very strong implication they've had unprotected and/or drunk sex beyond what happens in this fic. They also push each other around and there's very mild breathplay (like super mild). It's not meant to be dub-/noncon or abuse, but YMMV.
> 
> [This](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/06/james-mccann-of-the-detroit-tigers-looks-on-from-the-dugout-during-picture-id578540924.jpg) is James. [This](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/06/jose-iglesias-of-the-detroit-tigers-looks-on-against-the-new-york-at-picture-id543103278.jpg) is José. This is [James and José](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/06/josejames.gif).
> 
>  **ETA:** I totally forgot I made a mix for this fic. You can find it [here](http://nullrefer.com/?https://open.spotify.com/user/saddestboner/playlist/0ZWqJAoMEXPlNsYXty3wRa).
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

José shows up to the clubhouse with a split lip and a fresh bruise under his left eye before their game against Cleveland and it’s all James can do to keep from staring at him.

He studiously avoids looking in the direction of José’s locker but voices carry, and he overhears J.D. asking him if he’s okay. Asking how the other guy looks, with a manful chuckle. James glances over his shoulder in time to catch J.D. nudging José in the ribs with his elbow and doesn’t miss the gritted teeth or slight wince.

J.D. thankfully wanders away after getting a satisfactory answer, and so James goes in for the kill.

“What happened to your face?” he asks gruffly, trying to sound appropriately concerned. 

José narrows his eyes at him and runs the tip of his tongue over the cut on his lip. “Bar fight,” he lies.

James rolls his eyes. “Right. You, in a bar fight. Sure.”

“You should see what the other guy looks like,” José says snottily, mimicking J.D.’s tone.

“Maybe you should get that looked at,” James says, reaching out and touching the bruise under José’s eye. The skin is slightly puffy, bright red and starting to purple at the edges.

José hisses and dodges James’s hand. “Careful. It hurts.”

“Serves you right.” James presses a hand against José’s chest, pushing him back into the wall. He jabs his index finger into José’s sternum. “You oughta be more careful. Can’t afford to lose you to the D.L. too, Iggy.”

José glares at him. “Fuck you.”

James laughs and steps back, letting his hand drop. “I think I’ll pass.”

José grabs his glove out of his locker and slings it into James’s midsection, hard. “Wasn’t offering.”

James grins at him. José just looks back, his face a blank mask. There’s a little smear of blood on his bottom lip that leaves James wishing he could lick it clean just to make him bleed again. He pushes past José, savors that soft little intake of breath when their shoulders collide. James pauses for a moment, breathes in and fills his lungs with the sharp scent of José’s cologne.

He pushes José’s glove into his chest and José wraps a hand around it, their fingers brushing, then spasming and jerking away. José reaches out, digs his nails into James’s hand hard enough that it actually stings. 

James moves back enough that they can look each other in the eye. 

“You really should clean yourself up. You look like shit.” James pats José on the shoulder and exits stage left.

***

James stands in front of his locker, fussing with his hair, trying to get it looking just right. He’s still wet from his postgame shower, wrapped up in a damp towel. There are still guys in the showers, chattering happily after a hard-fought one-run win, and Victor’s boombox is blasting some upbeat reggaeton James can’t understand a lick of. He doesn’t mind, though. A win’s a win.

Miggy and Ver wander out of the showers, talking about something from the game. James can tell because Miggy still looks like he wants to run through a brick wall, mean scowl screwing up his face. Ver just laughs and pats him on the shoulder indulgently, like a parent.

James fidgets in his padded chair, tapping one foot and then the other to the rhythm of the reggaeton song piping out of Victor’s boombox. He can’t keep up with the beat. 

His eyes keep straying to a particular empty locker across the room. 

José emerges from the showers in a billowing cloud of steam, fingers pressing against his split lip. Now that he’s shirtless, James can make out a chain of bruises—some fresh, others not so much—on his side. His towel hangs low and there are fingerprint-shaped bruises dotting the skin stretched over his hipbones too.

“Have a good night?” Kinsler eyes the marks over José’s ribs and hipbone as he makes his way toward the exit.

José looks down and prods at one of them. “You could say that.”

“Hope you got your money's worth,” Kinsler teases, giving José a brotherly shove in the shoulder and laughing overly loud.

José’s lips twitch in a smile and the cut on his lip cracks open again. “I think I did.”

James looks away and pulls a shabby gray T-shirt shirt off a hook in his locker. He tugs it on over his head and stands up, slowly unwinding his wet towel from around his waist. 

He can feel José’s eyes burning into the back of his neck across the clubhouse. Heat unspools in James’s gut, just knowing he’s being watched. 

James dresses slowly, deliberately. He doesn’t dare turn around. After he’s done, he grabs his wallet, keys, and leaves.

The faint sound of footsteps echoes behind him. James still doesn’t chance turning around. Not until they get outside, to the player’s lot.

James has just stepped outside the main entrance when a hand closes around his shoulder and spins him around, shoving him back against the brick façade. The fingers dig into his shoulder painfully tight.

“You have fun tonight?” José crowds in on him, their faces nearly touching. 

He’s close enough that James can see the shadows pool under his eyes like the bruise slashed across his cheek like purple paint.

“I happened to have a lot of fun tonight,” James says, smirking.

“This is the last time,” José is saying, but James is no longer listening to the words that come out of his mouth.

He reaches up, closes his hand around José’s wrist. “Shut up.”

José stops talking, mouth going slack. “What—”

“I said—”

“I hear you. I’m just ignoring you,” José snaps. “I’m telling you I’m done now.”

“Done?” James pulls José’s hand off his shoulder. 

“It has to stop. You see that, yes?” José pulls his hand back.

James snorts in disbelief and pushes away from the wall. “You’re kidding me, right?”

José shoves him in the chest, back into the wall with a hard thump. “You never take me seriously. I’m telling you I’m done with you. For good now.”

James grabs José by the collar of his soft cotton shirt and yanks him in close. He doesn’t kiss him, even though he knows José’s expecting it, maybe even wanting it. James rubs his nose against José’s neck, under his jawline. 

“You sure about that?” 

José sighs. His hand lands heavily on James’s hip. “Yes.”

“Right.” James opens his mouth on José’s neck, drags his teeth over his pulse. He thinks he can feel José’s heartbeat jump under his tongue. 

“Please.” José’s breathless, voice barely above a whisper. 

He’s not asking James to stop.

James pushes him back and José blinks at him with wide eyes. “Not here,” James says, reaching out and straightening the front of José’s shirt. “Come back to my place.”

José shakes his head and closes his eyes for a moment, before brushing James’s hands away from his chest. “I can’t. Busy.”

“Doing what?” James asks, scoffing.

“Watching video of my swing,” José says.

“You can do that anytime.”

José worries at his split lip with the tip of his tongue and rocks back on his heels. The milky golden light from inside the lobby casts an eerie, weird glow across his face. It’s a handsome face, usually, but the light makes him look like a ghost, washed out and sickly.

José clenches his hands into fists. “I hate you.”

“You say that a lot.” James moves closer to him, one foot in front of the other.

José takes a step back. “I mean it. I do.”

“Then stop me.”

José’s face falls for just a moment before he strides forward and then he’s pulling James into a kiss. 

They’re standing on the broken sidewalk outside the ballpark and José’s tongue is in James’s mouth and his hand is in the hair at the back of his neck. His tongue tastes of copper and James realizes the cut on José’s lip is bleeding again. 

James breaks the kiss and says, “Come back to my place.”

“Yes, okay.” José’s eyes shine like polished obsidian in the dark. He doesn’t hesitate.

James hates him for it, just a little bit. 

They take James’s truck back to his place.

James is on José before they’re even through the front door, hands skating under his shirt. José kicks the door shut with his heel and grabs a handful of James’s hair, tugging him in close. The kiss itself is almost painful, more teeth than tongue, but James doesn’t mind. His keys slip out of his hand and he hears them land on the marble floor. One of José’s hands snakes down his chest, over his stomach, under his T-shirt.

“Bedroom?” José asks.

“Just stop talking.” James opens his belt.

“I’m not fucking you on the floor,” José snaps, shoving him in the chest.

James reaches up, knocks his hands away. “You’re seriously gonna be picky right now?”

“Fuck you, I’m not fucking you on the—”

James shuts him up with a kiss, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck. It works, for now. José skims his fingertips over his cheek for a moment before jerking his hand away and turning his head.

“You were fine with it the other day,” James points out—reasonably, he thinks—because he was.

“And now I want something different.” José pushes James away from him. “I’m thirsty. Gonna make myself a drink.”

José shoves away from James and heads off for the den, where James keeps a stash of expensive liquor. He has his own bar and sometimes, when he’s feeling generous, he mixes them drinks. He’s not feeling generous tonight. 

James trails after him, scrubbing his hands over his face. He already kind of regrets taking José home. Maybe he should have just let him go. 

They’ve been at it long enough that James knows he should know better by now. 

José opens the liquor cabinet and starts picking up bottles and putting the back down. He sets a half-empty bottle of Ketel One on the countertop. A bottle of Glenlivet follows the Ketel One and James makes a face.

“You’re not gonna mix those, are you?” he asks.

“Weighing the options,” comes José’s voice. He’s back rooting around in the cabinet for more. 

James steps up behind him and runs a hand down his back. 

“Just pick one, for crying out loud.”

José straightens up and turns, already twisting the cap off a bottle of Bacardi. “I pick all of them.”

“No. You only get one. Then I’m gonna bend you over the bar and fuck you,” James says.

“Bar’s too tall, I’m too short.” José takes a triumphant pull of the rum and winces. Tears prick the corners of his eyes.

James gently works the bottle out of his hand and puts it on the counter alongside the vodka and whiskey. When he leans in and licks at José’s lips, he can taste it. Clean and sharp.

“Come upstairs,” James demands.

José breaks into a grin and takes another sip of rum before putting the bottle aside. His lips are slick and shiny. “So I win.”

James rolls his eyes, slipping his hands down José’s sides, to his hips. “Moral victory, maybe.”

José pushes against James’s chest. “Take me upstairs then.”

“Why do I put up with you?” James asks.

“You like when I push.” José shoves him in the chest as if to emphasize his point.

James slings an arm around his shoulders and leads him back to the stairs. His keys are sitting at the bottom step and he stoops to pick them up and pocket them. José hooks his finger in James’s belt loop and pulls at him impatiently.

When they get to James’s room, he shoves José onto the bed and climbs over him to unclasp his watch and take off his cross. José squirms underneath him, and James catches a knee in the thigh. James hisses between his teeth and falls back on the mattress, sprawling across José’s legs.

José kicks him in the side, not hard enough to hurt, and James rolls off of him. “Don’t leave so many bruises this time. I got weird looks from the guys.”

James climbs on top of him and shoves him back against the mattress. “But you like it.”

José glares up at him, his cheeks flushing. James rolls his hips and José’s eyelashes flutter. “Do not.”

“You like that they don’t know it was me who marked you up,” James says, yanking José’s shirt over his head with minimal help.

José rests his hands on James’s thighs, on either side of his waist. “Less talking, more clothes coming off.”

James divests himself of his own shirt and pants, then helps José out of the rest of his clothes. Their shirts and pants and boxers and socks end up in a heap at the foot of the bed. 

José’s skin is still peppered with marks—bruises in the shape of fingerprints, bruises in the shape of a mouth, the slight indentation of teeth—and something about it flips a switch in James. It’s like looking at work of art, he thinks, created by his own hands on the canvas of José’s golden brown skin. 

“When are you gonna fuck me?” José asks, with a sad little sigh. 

James knows better than to fall for it.

“What do you say?” James bears down.

“Please,” José is saying, as he arches up against James.

“ _Please_ what?” James rocks his hips forward and José sighs happily.

“Please fuck me.”

“There you go. See? It wasn’t so hard, following orders.” James crawls next to José and starts digging around in his nightstand for his tube of lube and condoms.

José touches his arm. “I don’t want it.”

“What?” James looks at him, puzzled.

“I wanna feel you,” José says.

James frowns. “Seriously?”

“You wanna fuck, don’t you?” José asks, lying back and crossing his arms under his head.

James closes his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose.

He and José aren’t exactly in a committed relationship here. Heck, they both agreed weeks ago that this arrangement should probably stop, although their dicks hadn’t quite gotten the memo yet. James can’t speak for José, but he’s not sure he trusts him enough to just fuck him raw like that. At least sober. Then again, José _is_ the one asking. Apparently he trusts James enough to ask.

James sighs.

“So?” José asks. “I don’t mind taking care of myself if you’re…not up to it.” He reaches down and palms at his dick.

“I truly, deeply hate you,” James says, with feeling.

“I know.” José throws his head back and laughs.

It’s not _that_ funny.

James takes his time working José open, two fingers at first, then a third just how he likes it. He works deliberately, his other hand wrapped around José’s cock. José’s cheeks are still flushed a pretty shade of red that’s now slowly spreading across his chest. 

James twists his fingers a little bit and gets a slap upside the head for it. He grins down at José.

“Having fun yet?” he goads.

“Need a little more,” José says, chewing on his bottom lip, tearing open that cut again.

James wriggles his fingers almost experimentally and José swipes at him again, but he ducks his head in time. 

“You want ’em all?” James pauses and rubs his thumb against José’s rim. José shivers against him.

“Whatever,” he says.

James rolls his eyes and leans over José to grab the bottle of lube off the nightstand. “Leaving me to my own devices might not be the best choice.”

“This is okay,” José says, lifting a shoulder, “but I need more.”

James slicks his hand and drips some of the lube on José’s ass just because he knows it annoys him when it gets on the sheets and makes everything messy. José huffs and kicks at James’s side.

James knows what José means when he says _more_ , and part of him still wants to be a dick and take him apart, piece by piece, until he’s begging for it. But James has needs of his own too.

He pulls back and wipes his hand on the sheets, then slicks himself up with the lube. José watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted. James puts on a little bit of a show for him, makes these exaggerated little sighs and moans as he strokes his cock. His fingers glisten in the low light. 

They’ve fucked without a condom before, but there’s usually way more alcohol involved.

There’s a half-remembered night from a few weeks ago that lingers at the back of James’s mind. A difficult loss, errors and mental lapses on both sides of the ball. Most of that night is foggy, drenched in whiskey and rum and dulled anger, but James can remember very clearly shoving José onto his bed and pinning him against the mattress with an arm to the throat. Remembers shoving his pants down and not even bothering to dig his wallet out to fish for a condom. 

The rest of that night is a blur of teeth and claws and bruises, but he remembers that. He remembers liking it. He remembers how José felt underneath him. Remembers José saying his name— _James_ —like it meant something.

“Come on, gimme more, I can take it.” José cuts through his thoughts like a knife.

James crawls between his legs, lines their bodies up. “You sure about this?” he asks, knowing what the answer will be.

“Yes.” José is glaring at him with the fire of a thousand—no, a million—angry suns.

James grips him by the hips and cuts through all the pretense. José lets out a soft gasping breath as he slides home. 

He wants José to make that noise again so he pulls out, thrusts back in, fingers fitting perfectly over old bruises. José closes his eyes and knots his hands in the bedsheets.

James wishes he was drunk. Wishes his brain was swimming in vodka or rum. Like that night a few weeks ago. James leans over him and thrusts his hips, hard, squeezing a startled noise out of José. 

When James tries to pull away, José hooks a leg around James’s waist to keep him in place. Skin against skin. James braces himself over José, a hand on either side of his face.

“Gonna need you to let me go,” James mumbles, studying the bump of José’s nose up close.

“Not in a hurry to go anywhere, are you?” José asks.

“Ain’t really conducive to the whole, you know, fucking thing,” James says, reaching down to squeeze José’s knee.

José laughs, the skin near the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Maybe I’ll just keep you like this.”

“Yeah?” James settles over José’s chest. “You’d have to let me go at some point.”

“Nah. We’d stay like this and I’d just fuck you until I got tired of you,” José says, rolling his hips just so.

James closes his eyes and sighs. “Dunno how I feel about this plan. Don’t think you’ve thought it all the way through.”

José scratches his nails lightly down James’s back. “Thinking’s overrated.” His laughter rumbles against James’s chest.

James pushes himself up onto his elbows and snaps his hips forward. José makes _that_ noise again, and James feels gratified. He grips José tightly by the hips and does it again and again. José’s breath hitches and James paws at the side of his face for a moment before leaning back down and slotting their mouths together.

James gets an arm around José’s waist and a hand at the back of his neck and, feeling ambitious, hauls him against his chest. The sharp edges of José’s crucifix bite at his skin, and José bites at his lip, teeth digging in and tugging hard enough James tastes blood. 

They’re not really in sync tonight, James going one way and José the other. But it works, somehow. 

After a little while, José pushes James back against the mattress and looms over him, hands resting on his chest. James looks up at him, waits, wonders. He runs his thumb in slow circles over José’s wrist bone.

José quirks a tiny smile down at him. “I like you like this.”

“What? Under you?” James scoffs.

José presses down. “Yeah, sure.”

José starts riding him and, absurdly, that stupid Big & Rich song flashes in James’s mind. James must give himself away, though, because José slaps him gently on the cheek. 

“No laughing.” José is smiling though.

It’s good. 

James gets a little tired of lying back and letting José do all the work, and he can feel José’s close, just needs a little more to get him over the edge. So he rolls them over until he’s back on top and grips José by the shoulders and pins him against the mattress. José stares up at him, eyes completely dark, that pretty flush back in his cheeks. 

James decides he _is_ feeling generous tonight, after all. He taps the headboard. “Brace yourself.” 

José does as he asks. 

This is his favorite part. 

He wraps himself around José, wraps José’s legs around his waist. José grips the headboard, the muscles in his arms going taut, knuckles mottled red and white. José isn’t shy now, his gentle gasps giving way to moans of pleasure with a tinge of relief. Like, finally. Finally.

James presses his face into José’s sweat-damp neck. 

James is close. He reaches between their bodies and fists José’s cock, stroking haphazardly. José’s own rhythm is unsteady, hips stuttering, and James realizes he’s almost there. He opens his mouth on José’s neck, in the space where his shoulder curves, and bites down gently at first. José tugs against his teeth and digs his fingernails into James’s back.

“Please,” José gasps.

James bites down harder, then soothes the bite with the tip of his tongue.

José shudders against him, hands stilling on his back. James can feel him tense up, breaths coming in shallow gusts against his neck, his throat. He rubs his thumb over the mark he’s left on José’s neck, presses down.

“C’mon, you’re close, I can feel it. C’mon,” James urges. 

“Oh,” José sighs. 

He comes then, underneath and apart and around James. It’s enough to spur James on to finish the last lap, to go for the final shot, to hit the walkoff bomb, and all sorts of dumb sports metaphors. It doesn’t take James much longer before he’s seized by his own orgasm. 

James flops over José and presses his face in his hair. They’re both quiet but for their breathing. 

Finally, José’s says, “Get off, you’re heavy,” and gives James a gentle shove in the chest.

James squirms a little and takes a tiny amount of pleasure when José swallows down a startled breath. “Can’t move.”

“Off.” José pushes at his shoulder.

James obliges and rolls off of him onto his back. He could just fall asleep like this, naked and satisfied. He reaches out, catches José by the neck and pulls him into his chest. José settles against his side.

“You can stay if you want,” James says. “Or I can call you a cab.”

“Should probably clean up and go,” José says.

“Probably,” James agrees. He keeps his arm around José’s neck. He’s too exhausted to move.

“I’m kinda tired though,” José says, following that up with a massive yawn as if to emphasize his point. 

“All right,” James says.

“You don’t mind?” José asks.

James rests his temple atop José’s head. “Not really.”

“I’m a mess.” José swipes at a sticky mess on his chest and belly. 

“You know I’m a mess too, right?” James wraps his other arm around José’s waist. 

José curls up against James and uses his shoulder for a pillow. “Going to sleep. Shut up now.”

“Okay.” James closes his eyes. 

He falls asleep just like that, José cradled against his shoulder.

***

They hit the road for a ten-game trip in mid-May. James hates lengthy road trips. He especially hates the lengthy West Coast swings, even though he’s going to see family and friends when they go to Anaheim. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy seeing them, it’s just… 

Well. He doesn’t know.

His mom asks him to stay at the house in Santa Barbara, but James begs off, lying to her and telling her that the team won’t let him. The Tigers brass doesn’t really care where you stay, as long as you show up on time and don’t completely blow off the team after the game.

He feels a twinge of guilt that first night in Anaheim when he creeps out of his hotel room and down the hall to José’s. 

James has his hand poised to knock when the door swings open and José pulls him inside. He kicks the door shut behind them. 

“Well, hello.” James grins and slides his hands around his waist.

“Hello.” José leans in and nips at James’s bottom lip. He tugs James’s shirt out of his belt, bunching it in his fists.

“Little impatient, huh?” James spins them around and guides José back toward the bed.

“It’s what you're here for, no?” José falls back on the bed and tugs James on top of him.

“I came for the riveting conversation.” James reaches out, tips José’s chin up and kisses him slowly. He feels José’s lips curve into a smile against his when they part.

“I can hold a conversation. Or I can do this.” José rolls his hips against James’s. 

“Learn how to multitask,” James says, collapsing on top of him.

José slides his hands under the back of James’s shirt, down to his belt. “Missed you,” he says, squeezing James’s ass through his jeans.

James goes still. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” José says. “Bruises are fading.”

“We’ll have to do something about that, then,” James says quietly.

José grins up at him and James can’t help but smile back, despite the funny feeling that twists in his stomach. 

James yanks José’s shirt over his head and holds him down with an arm across the chest, sucking a mark on his throat. José wriggles and squirms underneath him, but James thinks he secretly likes the press of his weight bearing down. James likes holding him down, likes pinning him against the mattress. So he does.

James straddles his waist and holds him down. José’s eyes flash and his mouth twists into a smirk.

“Hm?” James asks. That thing twists and curls in his stomach like tendrils of smoke.

“Put your hands on me,” José says.

“Like this?” James puts a hand over his chest.

José grabs onto his thumb and pulls his hand over his throat. “This.”

James leaves his hand there, thumb fitting perfectly along José’s jaw. “You want this?” He presses down gently.

José’s eyes shine like an oil slick. “Yeah.”

James leans down and kisses him, a hand still around his throat. José swallows against the pressure and squirms underneath him. 

James isn’t really sure how he feels about this, but José seems to like it, so there’s no reason to stop. And José’s not afraid to let him know if he isn’t enjoying himself. 

James keeps his hand over José’s throat. Rocks his hips slowly against José. “Is this okay?” 

“Harder,” José says.

“Fuck.” James tightens his hand around José’s neck, almost involuntarily, and José arches up against him in a single fluid movement. 

It feels good. He wonders how it feels for José.

James thinks he could fuck him like this, a hand on his throat. He thinks José would probably like that. 

James wants—

José bucks his hips up, rubbing almost impatiently against the front of James’s jeans. James gets the hint.

James unzips his pants and pulls his dick out, already half-hard and dripping. José slides out from under James and pushes him onto his back. James looks up at him, curious. And José looks back, says nothing, eyes shining.

José slides down the length of his torso. His hand joins James’s on his dick, and his mouth too. James closes his eyes. 

José pops off his dick with an obscene squelch. “What are you thinking?”

James forces his eyes open. “What?” he asks, glancing down at José, who’s bracketed comfortably between James’s thighs.

“I’m not gonna blow you,” José says after a moment’s deliberation, dragging his hand slowly up the shaft of James’s dick.

“You’re joking, right?” James stares at him.

“Something else in mind.” José grins wickedly. 

James’s stomach does flips. “Oh, no.”

José flicks his tongue over the head of James’s dick before letting it flop wetly against his stomach. “Yes.”

James watches José ardently as he settles back between James’s legs and runs his hands over his parted thighs. José hooks one of James’s legs over his shoulders and flicks his eyes back to James’s face. Something tightens around his chest like a band. 

José dives in and presses a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss against James’s lips. James finds himself leaning into it before remembering himself.

José moves back between James’s legs and grabs him by the hips. James knows what’s coming. Can see it happening as if in slow motion. And yet, when José spreads his cheeks and opens him up with his tongue—licks _into_ him—it still feels like a surprise. 

James has never done this before. There’s a lot of stuff he’d never done before, until José. 

José spreads him open a little more and thrusts, works a finger in with his tongue. It’s wet and slippery and slick and just the slightest bit uncomfortable. And good, always so good. José licks and sucks—even uses his teeth some—until James is shaking underneath him. José keeps fucking him with his fingers and his tongue and liquid warmth starts to pool in the pit of his stomach. 

It’s good, it’s good, it’s so good.

José adds another finger. It all feels like too much. _José_ feels like too much. James is probably going to die like this, with José’s tongue and his fingers in his ass, and then they’ll put it in his obituary. 

James starts laughing and presses his hands over his face.

José pulls his fingers out. “What’s so funny.”

“Nothing.” James presses his fists over his eyes.

José circles a finger around James’s hole. “You embarrassed?” He pushes back in, slowly.

“No.” James lowers his hands and looks down at José. He’s the perfect model of concentration, forehead wrinkled, tongue peaking out from between his teeth. It’s kind of ridiculous when you think about it.

“Good, would hate for you to be embarrassed.” José flicks his eyes at James’s face for a moment, flashes him a crooked smile, leans down and kissing the tip of his cock before taking him into his mouth.

When James is on the edge of orgasm, José pulls off and finishes him off with his hands. José’s lips, red and raw and swollen, glisten with James’s come, and it clings to his eyelashes like cobwebs too. James reaches down and tries to wipe it off his face, but ends up making more of a mess, just getting it into his hair. 

José wrinkles his nose. “Ugh.”

“Okay. C’mere.” James crooks a finger at José. 

José climbs next to him and James pushes him back into the pillows. He drags a palm down José’s chest, into the waist of his pants. José’s dick is hot and hard and heavy in his hand. It shouldn’t take much, James thinks, as he starts to stroke him. He knows what José likes. He can make it quick, or he can draw it out to impossible lengths.

James decides to be nice and works José over quickly, teeth on his neck. He sucks a new bruise over an old, fading one.

José comes, hands tugging in James’s hair, sighing his name. Like it matters.

James tries not to think about that. Tries not to think about it as he pulls José by the hand into the shower. Tries not to think about it as he squeezes body wash into his hands and soaps up José’s back.

“So,” James says over the roar of the shower. 

“Mm, yes?” José braces his hands on the wet tile and tips his head back.

James runs his hands down José’s back, leaving a trail of suds. Warm water beats into sore muscles. “I—I’m not sure where I was going with this,” he says, leaning in, pushing his nose against the back of José’s neck. 

José presses back against him. “I got time.”

“How much time.” James digs his chin into José’s shoulder. His hands slip over his ribs.

José shrugs, jostling Jame’s chin off his shoulder. “How much time you want?”

James isn’t sure what they’re talking about anymore, so he says nothing. Listens to the patter of water. 

The water goes lukewarm pretty quickly, and James’s fingers are pruney now, but he doesn’t dare move. Every time José breathes, his back presses against James’s chest. James reaches back and gropes blindly for the shower dial, shutting off the water. 

It’s cold now. James shivers and holds on a little tighter, for just a moment.

José shivers too. “Cold,” he mutters, tugging on the arm around his waist.

James finally remembers his voice. “Yeah.”

“You gonna let me out?” José holds James’s arm around his chest. 

“Let me go and I will,” James mumbles against his shoulder. 

“Ah,” José says. He pushes James’s arm away and turns to face him. 

James gets a good look at the damage he’s inflicted for the first time. The cut lip, the bruise under his eye, the new bruises on his neck and shoulders and chest. James touches José’s neck, fitting his thumb over the bite there.

“You’re…” James fumbles for the right word. “You’re—”

“Awesome?” José grins.

“I dunno about that.” James lets his hand drop. “I was gonna say more like… Weird.”

“You’re weird too, you know,” José fires back, giving James a gentle push in the chest.

James laughs and knocks José’s hands away. “I’m normal. Depressingly normal. And boring.”

“It’s why I keep coming around. Because you’re boring and normal.” José pushes him back against the wall.

“You like boring.” James lets his head fall back against the tile. 

“Didn’t say I liked it.” José winks and slips out of the shower.

James follows him out, back into the room, and sets about separating their tangled pile of clothes while José fishes around in the minibar. James gets up, leaving their pile of clothes behind, to slip in behind him. José stops fussing with the bottles of water, juice, soda, and alcohol, hands stilling. James reaches around him for an apple juice and steps back. 

José looks over his shoulder. “Hey, this is my room, I’m not sharing.”

James raises an eyebrow as he uncaps the juice. “Not sharing? That’s rude.”

“I’m rude. I think that’s why _you_ keep coming around,” José says, shutting the minibar.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” James teases, setting the apple juice aside.

José jabs at his stomach and James bats his hands away. “You keep telling yourself that.”

James wraps his hands around José’s. “You know I’m right. You’re a marshmallow. Got that soft center.”

“Nothing about me’s soft,” José says imperiously, tipping his chin up.

James laughs and takes him by the waist, slinging them both on the bed. José’s façade cracks, and then he’s laughing too, and it’s nice. James can’t remember the last time they just laughed.

José gets his arms around James’s waist and puts his head on his shoulder. He says, “You’re awful,” but he’s still laughing.

“You’re worse.” James rubs his hands up José’s arms, smirking a little at the gooseflesh that puckers under his touch.

“No arguing here.” José sits up beside James and draws his knees to his chest. 

James waits for him to say something. He looks like it’s on the tip of his tongue, like he’s just trying to arrange his words into some semblance of sense. James flicks his fingers at José’s ankle. And waits.

Finally, José says, “I’m thinking about what I said. The last time.”

James’s brain screeches to a halt. “Huh?”

José kicks James’s hand away, gently. “That this should stop.”

“Really?” James sits up and scowls at him, his mood just fucking _gone_ , just like that. “You’re gonna bring this up now?”

José presses his chin into his knee. “You’re in a good mood, no better time.”

“There are definitely better times.” James throws up his hands. “Can’t we just shelve it ’til tomorrow?”

José reaches for James but he pulls his hands away. José sighs. “I just wanna finish our talk.”

“You’re killing me.” James can’t help but laugh. He should have known José wouldn’t forget. 

José shrugs. “Sorry. I think about it a lot.”

James scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay?”

“We don’t even like each other,” José says.

James snaps his head up at that. “What? I don’t hate you,” he says, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Do you like me?” José asks. “You can’t say you like me.”

James’s head is swimming. “What.”

“If we’re not teammates we wouldn’t be friends,” José says.

“So you want me to be your friend? That’s it?” James asks.

“No! I mean…” José curls his hands into fists and hits the mattress. “This isn’t coming out right.”

James sighs and tries to be patient, but José just threw him off his game and his knee-jerk reaction is to be an asshole. He wants to push him and push him until he takes whatever this is back, or it breaks. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.

“You don’t want to mess around anymore because you really just want to be my friend?” James tries, hesitantly. 

José screws his face into a frown. “No.”

“Well, then what the heck do you want from me?” James asks. A tiny spark of annoyance flares into flames in his chest.

José makes a frustrated choking noise and punches the mattress again. “I don’t want anything!”

James gets out of bed and picks up a pair of boxers from the floor that he thinks are his. He steps into them and looks around for his jeans and shirt.

“Find me when you know what you want,” James says, plucking his shirt from amongst José’s things and pulling it down over his head. “Until then… Maybe you’re right, it should stop.”

José jumps up too and stands himself in front of James, hands on his hips. “You don’t get to be mad at me.”

“And you don’t get to tell me how to feel,” James snipes. “If I feel like being mad at you, you better believe I’m gonna be mad.”

José narrows his eyes, lips tightening into a thin line. “Hypocrite. You don’t know what you want either.”

“I just wanna get laid sometimes. And sometimes I wanna kick back and drink some beers. It’s not that complicated,” James says.

“You’re reminding me why I wanted this to stop,” José says, low and mean, like a sucker punch.

James shoves him out of the way and crosses the room to retrieve his belt and his boots. José follows after him, and his presence is suffocating. James needs to get out of this hotel room, needs some fresh air. Needs a woman to take his mind off this mess for just a little while. 

James shoves his feet into his boots, doesn’t bother lacing them up, and angrily threads his belt through the loops with shaking hands. José’s still at his back. He’s not talking anymore, at least. 

When he’s dressed, James spins around and nearly collides into José. He steps back, glaring, and rubs at his jaw. José’s shoulders sag, like the anger drained everything out of him and left his body behind. 

“I’m staying away this time,” James says. “You win. Won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

José opens his lips as if to protest, then snaps his mouth shut. 

“That’s what you wanted,” James continues.

“Right,” José says, voice sticking in his throat. “Stay away from me.”

“Okay, good. Glad we’re on the same page then.” James watches him, watches the flutter of his eyelashes, the shadows that gather under his eyes.

James is a stupid, spiteful man, so he grabs José by the neck and brings their mouths together in a clash of teeth and lips and tongue.

He pushes José away from him and leaves.

***

James goes out with a couple of the guys the next night. They hit up some electrotrash nightclub, which is normally not James’s scene. He just needs to get out of his own head for a while though, and Greeney and Nick did invite him out. It would be rude to shrug them off. If he stays back at the hotel, he’ll go looking for trouble. 

The three of them find a booth in back where they’re promptly plied with wine and beer and double-shots of tequila. And pretty women come by to flirt and take pictures, which is good too. It’s the sort of uncomplicated fun James hasn’t had enough of lately.

James ends up with a sexy brunette in his lap. She tells him her name is Carmella, which leaves James wondering if she tastes like caramel too. 

“Everybody calls me Carm,” she says. 

James wraps an arm around her waist. “James. Nice to meet you.”

“You’ve got a weird accent. Where’re you from?” she asks, flipping brown curls behind a bronzed shoulder. 

“California. But I live in Arkansas now,” he says, grinning up at her. 

“Oh, neat. Where in California are you from?” Carmella strokes a finger over the top button on James’s shirt.

“Santa Barbara,” he says, following the movement of her hand.

“Del Mar,” she says, flicking the button.

Greeney leans over and shoves another double-shot of the noxious tequila they had earlier into James’s hand. “So—” he starts, but cuts himself short.

James looks over at him, then follows the path of Greeney’s gaze to the dance floor.

“Is that…” Nick trails off, huffing a laugh in disbelief. “Dude, it’s Iggy!”

James’s mouth goes cottony dry. José is sandwiched between a couple blondes in skimpy club gear, gyrating to the music. 

“Who’s Iggy?” Carmella asks.

“I’m gonna go drag him over,” Nick says, getting up.

“Aw, c’mon,” Greeney says, laughing, “he’s having fun.”

“Yeah, leave him be,” James says, tightening his arms around Carmella’s waist.

“Is he a friend of yours?” she asks James, petting his chest.

“Sort of.” James nuzzles her bare shoulder. 

“He’s kinda cute.” Carmella plays with the collar of James’s shirt. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” James looks up at her. The flashing lights halo her glossy brown hair, and the light drips down her features—long, aquiline nose, full red lips—like paint. 

Carmella’s beautiful. James feels emboldened. He could take her home tonight. 

“You’re cute too.” Carmella laughs and squeezes him by the chin, tipping his face up and kissing him lightly.

James slips a hand around the back of her neck, fingers tangling with her curls, and kisses her back. She tastes sharp, like the tequila they all drank.

When they part, James ends up with a mouthful of her long brown hair.

Nick strides back to their booth, an arm slung around José’s shoulders. Nick jerks his thumb at Carmella. “Hey, Carm, this is Iggy. Iggy, Carm.”

Carmella gives José a wave. “Hey.”

José studies her for a moment before smiling. “Hi.” He leans in, close enough that James catches a whiff of his cologne—and the flowery perfume of the women he was grinding on—and grasps her hand in his. 

James stares at the sequins on Carmella’s top and how the strobe lights reflect off of them. 

“Why you spending time with this guy,” José teases, putting a hand on James’s shoulder, “when you could spend time with me?”

James grits his teeth and tightens his jaw. “Because she has good taste, Iggy.”

José squeezes James’s shoulder. “No arguing.”

“Hey man, here, take this.” Nick busts back in between the three of them and shoves a glass of something into José’s hand.

“What is it?” José drains the glass anyway and when he lowers his hand, his mouth is slick. He runs his tongue over his lips.

“The bartender said it’s a Zombie,” Nick says. “Apparently it’s the strongest drink they make.”

José actually giggles. “Is good. I can feel it already, a little bit.” 

James squeezes Carmella’s waist. “You’re a terror, Casty.”

Nick grins and puts his hands on his hips, wearing the label like it’s a badge of pride. “It’s what all the ladies say.” He nods over at James and Carmella. “How ’bout you? You up for a Zombie?”

“Oh, no—” James tries, but Carmella cuts him short.

“We’re in,” she says, laughing. She and José actually slap high-fives and James hates both of them for a second. 

James presses his face against her bare arm. Her skin is cool and smooth, and she smells like coconut. Her hair tickles the tip of his ear.

“It’s not bad,” José is saying, resting his arm across the back of James’s chair. “It’s sweet and fruity. Like pineapple. You’ll like it.” He runs his fingers through the hair at the back of James’s neck.

“You need a little sweetness,” Carmella says, nodding decisively, as if this settles it. “Your friend agrees with me.”

“I do not,” James says into her arm.

José runs his fingers down the back of James’s neck. James should throw him off, but he doesn’t. Carmella is comfortable in his arms. 

“You’ll like it.” José sounds warm, happy.

Someone shoves a glass into James’s hand and Carmella slides out of his lap. When he looks up at her, she toasts him with her own glass and parts her blood-red lips in a pretty smile.

“Bottoms up?” Carmella taps her glass against James’s.

José’s breath is warm and heavy on the back of his neck. It smells sweet, like oranges and pineapple. 

“Cheers.” James tips back and chokes the shot down.

Whatever is in that drink goes immediately to his head. James puts the glass on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose. Carmella is clapping her hands and laughing, high-pitched and bubbly.

The strobe lights start to make him dizzy, so James just shuts his eyes. Someone squeezes his shoulder. 

“Shit, man,” Greeney is saying right in James’s ear, “that is fucking _strong_.”

“Good thing we Ubered it tonight.” Nick laughs.

James opens his eyes and blinks away tears. The rum is still burning a path down his throat. “Okay, I think I’m probably going to die now.”

A pair of arms wrap around James’s neck from behind and somebody presses their face in his hair. James reaches up and pats the arm around his neck. Carmella is standing in front of him, blurry now, her hair a brown tangle, mouth a slash of red. Her edges flash silver, then gold, then red and blue and green. James blinks away the fuzziness. 

“I think we need to dance,” she yells, holding her hands out to him.

“Stay,” José whispers in his ear.

James stares at Carmella. José’s arms are still tight around him. “I’m no good at dancing,” he says, laughing. “All I know is how to line dance.”

“I can teach you the salsa,” she says, swaying her hips so that her skirt flares out.

James pats José’s arm. “You gotta let me go, man.”

“Should probably get Iggy back to the hotel,” Nick says, reaching out for him. “I think we’re losing him.”

“Not that drunk,” José mutters, burying his face in James’s hair again.

“Right. This is you, completely sober.” Nick unwinds José’s arms from around James’s neck. “Let’s let McCannon take the nice lady out on the dance floor.”

“I can take him back to the hotel later,” James says, slipping out from under José’s arms. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on sticking around much longer. We’re just gonna dance, and then I’ll be right back.”

José staggers into Nick and puts his head on his arm. Nick pats him on the shoulder, awkwardly, then looks at James and shrugs. 

James reaches out for Carmella and she takes his hand. “I’ll be right back, promise,” he says to José, who has buried his face in Nick’s shoulder. “We’re just gonna go dance.”

José flips a hand dismissively at James, and he lets Carmella tug him onto the dancefloor.

It’s a fast song, which is good. James hasn’t danced in a while, so he’s not sure where to put his feet or how to move his body. He settles for just slipping his hands around Carmella’s waist and lets her take the lead, direct him where to go. 

“How do you know all those guys,” she shouts over the music, and he realizes she doesn’t know they’re ballplayers.

“They’re my coworkers,” James says.

“It’s cool that you’re so close,” Carmella says, hooking her arm around James’s neck. 

“Yeah,” James says, thinking of José. “We’re all pretty close.”

After the song ends, James heads back to their booth with Carmella in tow. Nick and Greeney are sharing one side of the booth, but José is nowhere to be seen. James frowns.

“Where’d Iggy go?”

“He said he called a cab,” Nick says, shrugging.

James sighs and picks up his sports coat. “I’m gonna go find him.”

“He’ll be fine, dude,” Greeney says.

“I said I’d get him back to the hotel. You saw him, he’s kinda out of it,” James says, slipping on the jacket. 

“He’s a grown-ass man,” Nick says, with a tinge of disbelief.

James shakes his head and turns to Carmella. “So…”

Carmella holds up a square of paper. “My number,” she says. “Gimme a call whenever.”

“Sure. I’ll do that,” James says, knowing full well he probably won’t.

He likes her, he thinks. James can so easily see himself calling her up the next time they’re in town, asking her out. He can also see himself disappointing her just as easily. But she’s smiling at him, holding out that folded up square of paper between her fingers and, for just a moment, he wants to be that guy who hasn’t let her down yet. 

James takes the piece of paper from her, knowing he just should do her a favor and toss it away when he gets back to the hotel.

James sets off in search of José and it turns out he doesn’t have far to look. He’d apparently made it just a few feet away from the club before puking all over the sidewalk. José is leaning against the brick façade when James steps out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

James carefully steps over the splatter on the sidewalk and takes José by the arm. “You good?”

José smacks his lips. “Feel better now that I puked.”

“I’m gonna get us a cab,” James says, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

“I’m walking back,” José says, swaying into James’s side.

“Huh? Why?” James pulls out his phone.

“Fresh air.” José smacks his lips again. 

“Cars have windows, you know.”

“I know. I just…” José sighs and rubs at his face. 

“C’mon. Just let me call the cab,” James says.

“Fine.” José looks away, throat working as he swallows.

James gets them a cab and settles back against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. He feels the folded edges of the paper Carmella gave him. 

“That girl liked you,” José says, averting his eyes. “She’s pretty.”

James’s stomach goes tumbling. “She is,” he agrees. 

“You gonna fuck her?” José asks.

James looks at him, but José is staring off at something in the distance. “Probably not.”

“Why not?” José turns to face him.

“Because I’m kinda buzzed,” James says, shrugging. 

“You could have some coffee first.”

“Why do you want me to fuck this girl I just met so bad?” James asks.

José flicks his eyes heavenward. “Just trying to be a wingman.”

“You kinda suck at it, so stop,” James says, leaning into José’s shoulder. “She gave me her number. I might call her. But I’m probably not gonna hook up with her.”

José reaches up and rubs at his neck, and then his throat. He tugs at the skin under his chin and jaw. “Maybe you just passed up your future wife.”

“For some reason, I don’t see wedding bells in my immediate future.” James rolls his eyes.

José falls quiet. James looks at him again and traces his eyes along the curve of his lips. 

“I’m not so drunk anymore,” José announces. “I can get back on my own.”

“I already called the cab,” James says.

A bright yellow taxi pulls in front of the club, as if on cue, and James reaches out, snagging José by the wrist before he can stagger off. José lets James pull him along.

James gives the driver the address for the hotel and rolls the tinted partition up. José pulls his legs to his chest and rests his arms across his knees.

José huffs out a breath. “You didn’t need to do this. I was fine.”

“I said I would,” James says, looking out the window. The moon looms overhead in the inky night sky like a hanging changeup. 

“I didn’t ask you to.”

James frowns at him. “You were pretty out of it. Just wanted to make sure everything was fine.”

“I could’ve found my way back,” José says.

James slides his hand across the space between them and gropes around until his fingers collide with José’s. “Sure you would’ve.”

José doesn’t pull his hand back. “It’s not…” He falters.

“Not what?” James asks.

“Trying to remember what I said to myself,” José says, turning toward James. “It’s hard to remember.” 

James leans in. “What are you talking about?”

José slides his hands over James’s face and closes his eyes, a smile twitching up the corner of his mouth. “I said we should stop.” José threads his fingers through James’s hair.

“Ah, yeah.” James touches the back of José’s hand. “That.”

When José moves closer, James smells the pineapple and oranges on his breath, and the rum beneath it. James licks at his lips and tastes the sweetness on his tongue, like a burst of sun. José pulls him closer, hands still on the sides of his face, and ghosts his lips over James’s.

James surges against him and pulls him closer, hands fisted in the collar of his shirt. Buttons skitter across the plastic cover over the cushions they’re sitting on. Everything sounds very loud, from the buttons to their breathing to James’s heartbeat thundering in his ears to José’s breath against his lips.

José’s knees bump against James’s and his teeth catch on his bottom lip. James doesn’t care. His breath is rattling in his chest, coming out in short bursts. José’s hands are on his face, fingers moving in tiny pulses. 

He shoves his tongue into José’s mouth to taste a little more of the sugary sweetness from earlier. José brushes his fingers through James’s hair, down the back of his neck. 

James sucks at his lips, and his tongue, pulls at José’s shirt until the buttons pop off and go flying. 

José was right. They should stay away from each other. 

James pulls away to bite José on the shoulder through his shirt. 

José’s hands scrabble desperately at James’s back. “Please.”

“ _Please_ what,” James murmurs in his ear.

“Come back to my room,” José says.

“You sure?” James feels like he asks this every time, and holds his breath. Waits for José to tell him no, to tell him he’s changed his mind.

“Yeah,” José says. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” 

James cups his face in his hands and kisses him, soft and slow. The sugary sweetness of the cocktails has faded by now, but James swears he can still taste it on his tongue. He kisses José again, chasing after the taste. He can’t find it now, so he settles for just kissing and kissing José until the cab lurches to a stop and they finally break apart. 

José tugs at his shirt, trying to make it look less like James ripped the buttons off, while James fusses with his hair. 

“Act cool,” José is saying as the partition starts to roll down, “you can do cool, right?”

James brushes his hands away and digs out his wallet, along with a wad of napkins. “Cool’s my middle name.”

José throws open the door and gets out. James pays the cab fare and follows him out, not bothering to stick around to see if the cabbie noticed what they’d been doing.

They end up in James’s room this time. When they’re safely inside, James pushes José back against the door and pins his wrists on either side of his head. José stares at him, breath ragged. 

“You could leave,” James says, pressing in closer.

“You always say that,” José sighs, rocking his hips against James’s. “You don’t want me to.”

“I wanna keep you here,” James says, letting go of one of his wrists to take him by the back of the neck. He hauls José against his chest, wraps an arm around his waist, and kisses him.

José runs his fingers over the collar of James’s gingham shirt. 

James tries to guide them toward the bed while pulling off José’s clothes at the same time, but he’s not really paying attention and they end up backing into a table. José puts a hand out to steady himself.

“Careful,” he hisses against James’s lips.

“I’m always careful.” James grabs José around the waist. “I wanna…” 

“What?” José asks.

“Nothing.” James shakes his head a little and flicks his eyes away from José’s face. 

José reaches out and grabs James by the chin, forcing him to look at him. “Tell me,” José says.

“I’m no good at telling.” James knocks José’s hand away and leans in, feathering a kiss over his lips.

James can feel José’s smile. “Mm, okay. I guess.”

Tonight, James takes his time. José is impatient, as he usually is, but James wants to make it last. He’s always saying it’s the last time, that he’s done, he’s not going to do this anymore. James wants to make it last as long as he possibly can. Maybe he could keep José in his bed and just do this with him forever, or at least until they couldn’t do it anymore. 

He’s ready for it. More than ready. He tugs greedily at James, trying to pull him on top. James is content to make him wait. He’ll get going when he’s good and ready.

James straddles José’s waist and stares down at him, focuses on the smooth skin underneath, that he maps with his big clumsy hands.

James bends down until their foreheads are touching. “Roll over. On your stomach.”

“I like your eyes,” José protests, for the first time all night.

James’s cheeks flush, and he goes warm all over, like José dumped a bucket of hot water over his head. “José.”

“You have nice eyes,” he says, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. “I like looking at them.”

“Shut up about my eyes,” James mutters. 

José laughs. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No.” James tries to scowl at him, but José’s delighted laugh trips something in him, and he can’t help but smile. 

What a pair they are. Laughing about nothing while James is trying to get José to let him fuck him.

“You are.” José sounds triumphant, and just the slightest bit smug.

“I’m not. Shut up.” James kisses him. “Okay. We’ll do it your way.”

José presses his face into James’s shoulder and gets his arms around him. “I win.”

“I’m already regretting it,” James says, stroking José’s side.

“You like it.” 

James laughs and slides off of José. He reaches out and catches James’s hand, and James glances back at him.

“What?” James asks.

“Nothing,” José says, keeping hold of James’s hand.

James shrugs and grabs his Ziplock bag of toiletries off the nightstand. After he gets out the necessities, he crawls back over José to prep him.

He takes his time with this too, opening José up with one finger, two, three, until he’s gasping and shivering and close to coming apart. James takes him right to the edge and then leaves him there, close to falling.

James rolls on a condom and slicks himself up, and then he holds himself over José. José searches out his eyes and he smiles when they make contact. 

He has nice eyes too, James thinks. 

José grabs James’s empty hand and notches their fingers together. 

James enters him, slowly. José holds onto his hand tight enough that it hurts a little bit. 

Once he’s buried inside, James rests his head against José’s shoulder. Just stays there, eyes closed, listening to their breathing. José’s fingers stroke in and out of his hair gently, down the back of his neck, over his shoulders and back up again.

James starts moving his hips, just a little, fingers digging into José’s waist. The bruises there are almost completely gone now, and something about that chafes at a place inside James that he doesn’t try to examine. 

José’s hands are warm on his shoulders and James turns his head, places a kiss against his fingertips. Just a small kiss, but José makes a tight noise in his throat anyway. 

“Harder,” José gasps between breaths, “I need you. Go fast.”

“We’re gonna take our time tonight,” James says, maybe a little smugly, tightening his hand around José’s thigh. James pulls him down as he drives his hips up. He feels more than sees José’s reaction. A full body shiver. He must have liked that, so James does it again.

José trembles against him and chews on his lip. “Hate you.”

James laughs. “I know.”

José’s fingers catch in James’s hair and pull, bringing him back down to kiss him. To caress his lips over a tender spot on James’s cheek, under his eye. To trace his lips across James’s. Like he’s trying to memorize his mouth, how it feels, how it’s shaped.

James slides an arm underneath José, gathering him closer. José kissing him on the cheek and the forehead and his mouth makes him feel weird. He feels like he’s looked too long into the sun and come away with red spots in his vision.

They’re wrapped around each other now, limbs entangled. José isn’t kissing his face anymore and James finds he can breathe a little easier now.

José sags against James’s chest for a few minutes, and James is content to listen to his breath, shallow and soft, before he starts moving again. 

“Hey,” José says. His voice is soft. 

James lifts his head and meets his eyes. “What?”

“Just wanted to see,” José says, lacing his fingers with James’s.

“See what?”

“Your eyes.” José lifts his hips, rises, brings himself back down.

James feels like he should be doing more. Wants to do more. “Your fixation on my eyes is kind of weird.”

“Shut up.” José leans in and bites at James’s lips. “You talk too much.”

James clamps his mouth shut and José laughs at him, seizing him by the chin. He drags his fingernails up José’s back, between his shoulder blades. José drapes his arms over James’s shoulders and kisses him. He settles into a steady rhythm, and James gets a hand around his cock and tries to match his pace. 

José keeps placing soft gentle kisses over James’s face, doesn’t stop until his movements grow jerky and uncoordinated and James brings him off with a hand on his cock and his teeth on his neck. 

It usually takes James a bit more before he topples over the edge too, but there’s something about tonight—maybe it’s the drinks they had, though James feels as clearheaded and sober as he’s ever been—that skims through his veins like electricity. Or maybe it’s the combination of the drinks from earlier and the whole night leading up to this, and this thing they’re doing now. Maybe it’s all of it.

James’s orgasm surges on him like a wave. He pulls out and tugs the condom off, getting a few good strokes in before he’s spilling onto José’s stomach and chest in long glistening stripes.

José looks down at his chest and makes a face at the mess. He swipes at it with his fingers. “You clean this up now.”

James kneels next to José and wipes at him with the bedsheet. “Don’t front. You like it.”

José shakes his head and sighs. “I put up with a lot,” he says.

“You do. And I’m thankful for it,” James says, startling himself with how much he means it.

José grabs James by the hands and tugs until James falls next to him in bed. James pillows his head on José’s shoulder and closes his eyes, as he works his fingers through James’s damp hair.

“Go to sleep,” José says, pressing his mouth against James’s hair.

James burrows into José’s side and lets his eyes shut. He resolves himself to stay up a while longer, at least until José falls asleep, but he drifts off to José’s fingers in his hair and his heartbeat in his ear.

***

They get back to Detroit riding a nice little winning streak. James feels good, refreshed. Recharged. Normally, everyone’s dragging ass coming back from a lengthy West Coast trip, but James feels like he could run a marathon.

He settles for inviting José back to his place, ostensibly to crash for the night.

José looks up at him like he’s spontaneously sprouted a second head. “What?”

James leans in close, drops his voice so that no one else can overhear. “Come over. We can go over scouting reports for tomorrow’s game,” he says, propping himself against the wall next to José’s stall.

José looks back down, finishes tying his shoelaces. “Scouting reports? That’s it?” he asks.

“I can help you with your positioning.”

José holds his hand in front of his face to hide his laughter. “That’s what you’re calling it now?”

“I’m very thorough.” James pushes away from the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets. He nudges the toe of his boot against José’s ankle. “So how about it?”

“I’ll think about it,” José says, getting up and pulling his jacket out of his locker. He slips it over his shoulders and turns back toward James. “All right. I’m in.”

James wants to grab him and kiss him right there in the clubhouse, but he settles for punching him on the shoulder. 

James has had José over at the house plenty of times, so this shouldn’t feel weird. Shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but it does. He has no plans this time. Usually, he can imagine how the night is going to go. He’ll get José into the house and push him up against the wall and tease him through his clothes until he’s desperate and begging for it. Or José will flirt and tease and goad until James takes him over the kitchen counter. There’s usually a plan, at least. 

Not this time.

James lets them into the house and quickly disarms the alarm system. José stands there in the foyer, lit by moonlight, looking up as if he’s never seen the night sky before. His eyes are full of wonder and James just watches him for a moment, looking up at the moon through the darkened skylight. 

“It’s real pretty like this,” José says, by way of an explanation, when he catches James looking at him.

James smiles, feeling inexplicably fond. “I guess you’re usually too busy to notice.”

“Yeah,” José says, sauntering over, his strides long and assured. “I feel like there’s something I should be doing.”

He reaches for James, but James catches hold of his hands and José lifts an eyebrow in question. 

James threads his fingers with José’s. “What?” he asks.

“You’re touchy tonight,” José says, letting James keep hold of his hands.

“I’m always touchy.” James pulls José into his chest.

José wraps his arms around his waist. “I like it.” 

James smoothes a hand through José’s hair and down the back of his neck. “I like that you like it.”

José sighs. “So, you said something about scouting reports. And positioning?”

James strokes his fingers through José’s hair. José’s cheek presses firmly against his chest. “That was just a lie to get you to come over,” James says.

“You lie to me?” José laughs softly, into James’s chest. “I should punish you for that.”

James kisses his hair. He smells like a mix of fruity shampoo and sharp cologne. “Depends on what kind of punishment you had in mind.”

José gets up on the tips of his toes and kisses the corner of James’s mouth. “What if I threw you over my knee?” he teases.

James rubs his cheek against José’s neck. “We could do that.”

“You’d let me?” José sounds skeptical. He draws his hands through James’s hair. “What if I wanted to—”

“I’ll do anything with you, you know that,” James says. 

José doesn’t say anything. 

James holds himself very still. José’s fingers are still in his hair but they’ve stopped moving. He wonders if he’s said too much.

“Anything?” José asks, pulling back, holding James at arm’s length. 

“I—I—” James stammers, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car and unable to get out of the way. “If you wanted to do that, I would. Uh. Be okay with it.”

“That’s what you mean?” José sounds almost disappointed.

“Yeah. You know I like, uh. Doing things with you,” James says, hesitantly. He feels like he’s being tested and he’s messing it up somehow.

José nods slowly. “You like doing things with me,” he says, deliberately, like he’s working out a puzzle in his head.

“Yeah.” James shrugs at him. “I wouldn’t keep inviting you over if I didn’t.”

José sighs heavily and rubs at his eyes. “Right.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s a long night,” José says, dropping his hand, angling himself toward the door. “I’m sleepy. I should—”

“Wait. What are you doing. Stop.” James reaches out and brushes his fingers over his elbow. “Just… Just stay.”

José lifts his head. “I’m not gonna fuck you.”

“I didn’t. I wasn’t.” James lets go of his arm. He’s gone off the rails somewhere, wants to get this right. “You don’t have to go.”

José quirks the corner of his mouth up. “You want me to stay?”

“Yeah.” James clenches his hands into fists to keep from reaching for him again. “If you want.”

José glances down at his fists and back up at his face. At his eyes. “I don’t get you,” he says, shaking his head. 

James rakes his hands through his hair and groans. “For goodness’ sake, José, just come to bed.”

José laughs and strokes James’s cheek softly. “ _Desearía poder renunciar a tí._ ”

James reaches up and pulls José’s hand away from his face. He presses his mouth against his fingertips and lets go. José lets James lead them up the stairs to his room.

He’s never invited José to stay over before. José has stayed over, but never all the way through the night. And never without sex being involved. Maybe that’s why things are going sideways. They don’t know how to be normal around each other. They don’t know what to do with each other when sex isn’t on the table.

James turns down the bed while José uses his bathroom. When he comes back, he climbs into bed fully clothed and pulls the comforter over him.

James rolls his eyes. “I’ve got shorts you can wear, if you want. You’re gonna be warm.”

“You’re too big.” José waves the suggestion off. “This is fine.”

“Suit yourself.” 

José watches as James unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. He feels weirdly self-conscious now, even though José’s seen him undress. He’s seen him naked. It’s not like this is new. It’s not like José’s never see him like this before. 

James undoes his jeans and slips out of them and avoids looking at José. For some reason, he feels less naked that way. 

He wonders if this is shame he’s feeling, but decides that it isn’t. He’s been ashamed before. Felt shame before. This isn’t it. This is something else, and it isn’t even all that unpleasant. 

James usually sleeps naked but it feels strange with José in bed, still fully clothed, so he leaves his boxers on and crawls into bed next to him.

James shuffles around a bit, trying to find a good spot on the mattress before settling in behind José. He slides an arm around him and shoves his face into the back of his neck. José reaches down and pulls James’s arm across his chest. 

“Goodnight.” James curls around him.

“ _Dulces sueños cariño._ ” José kisses the back of James’s hand.

James closes his eyes.

***

When James wakes up the next morning, he’s alone, and the empty spot next to him is cold. 

He lays there, a hand resting where José had slept the night before, and looks at the shadows that dance across the ceiling. There’s an overgrown bush outside the window he’s been meaning to trim, but he’s never gotten around to calling a landscaping service to come out. 

James sits up and shakes a few stray cobwebs of sleep out of his head. 

He wonders how long José stayed, if he called a cab, if he walked back to his condo. He wonders how he didn’t hear him get out of bed. 

If he had, James probably would have made him stay a little while longer. 

James stretches his arms and yawns.

The bedroom door opens and his heart jumps into his throat.

José stands in the doorway, a mug of steaming coffee cupped in his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” He looks down at the coffee mug. “You want coffee?”

“You figured out that stupid coffee maker?” James gets out of bed and joins him in the doorway. “I’ve been fighting with it since I got it.”

José wraps James’s hands around the mug and steps aside, scratching at the back of his neck. “It wasn’t hard.”

“Come back to bed,” James says, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Should get home,” José says. “Need a shower, change clothes, that kind of thing.”

“We don’t have to be downtown until noon, at least.”

José raises his eyebrows. “You want me just showing up with you, in my clothes from the night before?”

James thinks about that for a moment. Thinks about walking into the clubhouse with José still in last night’s shirt and jeans. His stomach twists itself into knots. “They wouldn’t care.”

José sighs and turns back toward the door. “I see you at the park, okay.”

James puts the coffee aside and follows after him, wishing there was something he could say to get him to turn back around. He’s out of his depth, though.

“At least let me get you a cab or something,” James says.

“I called for one, it should be here soon.” José stops in the foyer and looks up at the skylight. The sun streams in from overhead, but James is thinking about moonlight.

“All right,” James says.

José looks at him. His mouth twitches. “See you later?”

James shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. “Yeah.”

José moves in close and presses a kiss against James’s cheek. Then he slips away and out the door.

***

José avoids him for most of the rest of the homestand, and then they head out for their last really long three-city road trip of the year. They go to Kansas City and then Texas, and finish it off in Arizona for some reason. 

James doesn’t mind going to Kansas City because it’s just a three hour drive from Fayetteville. A couple college buddies call him up when they get in to their hotel that first evening in Kansas City and make plans to hang out after the game.

James had gotten used to spending most of his free time with José. He’s not quite sure what to do with himself now that José’s been staying away. 

It’s okay, though. James needs other friends, needs to reach out and connect with other people than just José. Heck, he doesn’t even know if he can consider José a friend. It’s not like they did much together besides screw around. He doesn’t know anything about José. Doesn’t know what José’s favorite song or favorite movie or favorite book are. He does know José’s parents’ names—Candelario and Barbara—and he knows José’s birthplace—Havana, Cuba—and the fact he’s the youngest of five kids, but that’s all stuff you could easily look up on the team website. 

James dresses to impress and throws on a splash of cologne and forces José out of his head. 

He steps out of the elevators, sports coat slung over his shoulder, whistling a song he thinks he heard José playing on the radio a couple weeks ago, when he bumps into someone and spins around, ready to tell them off.

José squints and makes a face at him. “You’re going out?”

“Meeting up with some friends,” James mutters. “College buddies.”

“Didn’t know you had other friends,” José teases. 

It’s probably not meant to be mean, needling, but it feels like that anyway. Like José’s picking at a scab just because he can.

“I have friends,” James snaps.

José puts his hands out, palms up, like he’s trying to calm James down or something, which just gets under James’s skin even more. “I know. I’m just teasing.” He drops his hands.

James grits his teeth and clenches his jaw. “I’ve gotta go, I’m gonna be late.”

José steps back and slips his hands into his pockets. “I won’t keep you.”

James stares at him for a moment. There’s a very real urge to drag José down to his level, to make him crawl in the mud with him. He wants to make him feel shitty and low. 

“You never had me,” James says, breezily.

José flinches. “So you’re gonna do that?”

“Do what?” James plays dumb.

“Be an asshole just to be an asshole,” José says, scowling furiously, eyes glittering like diamonds. “You don’t understand anything.”

“Then fill me in, because I’ve been trying to understand. I really have.” James holds his hands out in supplication.

José shakes his head. “I don’t know how.”

James shoves his hands through his hair. “What’m I supposed to do with that, huh? Gimme something, for goodness’ sake.”

José lets out a frustrated growl, turns on his heel, and heads off in the direction of the elevators. 

“Hey, wait.” James follows after him. “I’m not done here.”

“Thought you said you’re gonna be late,” José snipes as he pushes a button for the elevator. 

“Don’t walk away from me,” James says.

José glares at him. “ _¡Vete pa’l carajo!_ ”

“Dammit, José,” he snaps. 

James feels _mean_ now. Flush with it. He hasn’t felt like slamming José into the wall and either hauling off and slugging him or kissing the shit out of him in a while now. He’d almost missed the meanness, missed the warm, slick, nasty feeling that’s winding its way through his insides.

It’s something he knows. Something he’s good at. 

“We can’t do this here,” José hisses, as the elevator doors open with a chime and he steps in. José pushes at the button for their floor but James slips in before the doors can shut on him.

José looks at him, hand hovering over the elevator display.

James grabs him by the arms and pushes him back against the railing, just holds him there. José sighs, fingers clenching in the sleeves of James’s shirt for a moment before letting go. At some point, James lost his sports coat. He’ll just have to get a new one downtown. 

“Tell me what you want from me,” James says.

“I can’t think like this. With you…like this,” José says, pushing at his chest. “You—you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” James asks, pressing against him.

“Clouding my mind. Distracting me,” José says, keeping his hands against James’s chest.

“You’re easily distracted.” James leans in but José turns his head at the last moment and James ends up kissing his ear. 

“We can’t do this here. I said.” José’s fingers curl in James’s shirt. He’s not pulling him closer, but he’s not pushing him away either. “Elevators could open. Someone could see.”

“Yeah?” 

James gropes José’s dick through his pants. Just to make a point. José shudders against him and rocks his hips against James’s hand before backing away.

“You always do this. It’s not fair.” José pushes on his chest again. 

“Maybe I just know what you like. What you want.” James brushes his lips against José’s neck.

José gets his hands in James’s hair, fingernails scratching against his scalp. “I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” James asks.

“I let you back in, I won’t be able to keep you out.”

James bites José on the shoulder. “Don’t push me away.”

“I—I don’t know.” José does push James away this time, a hand over his heart, as the elevator lurches to a stop.

James stumbles into José a bit and they both fall back into the railing. Maybe he plays it up a little just to be close to him. 

“I don’t know what I want either,” James says, “so why can’t we just…”

“What?”

The elevator doors open and an older, touristy couple in matching Hawaiian shirts gets on. James grabs José by the arm and ushers him out of the elevator so they can continue their conversation.

José catches James’s hand in his and James looks down at their fingers, entwined. James feels bold, pushes him back into the wall and wraps a hand around his neck.

“James, I—” José reaches up like he’s going to push him away again.

James braces a hand against the wall and covers José’s mouth with his own, swallows his words. José grabs onto his wrists but doesn’t push him away. He makes a noise in his throat, high-pitched and desperate.

James feels wild and reckless. He squeezes José's neck, pulls him close, and keeps kissing and kissing him. 

Finally, José lets go of him and gives him a gentle shove in the chest. When James steps back, he shoves at him again. 

“What are you doing?” José hisses under his breath, eyes blazing. 

James just stares at him. Shrugs uselessly. 

“Anyone could see us,” José says.

“Then come to my room,” James says.

José rolls his eyes and tries to push past James, but James grabs his arm. 

“Let go. You’re a child.” José tries to twist his arm out of James’s grip.

“I’m not gonna do that. I’m not letting you go until we work this out.” James tugs José back. 

José looks at the hand on his arm and then at James’s face, into his eyes. “If I go with you, I know we’re not gonna talk.”

“What’s so bad about that?” James rubs his thumb over José’s elbow. “Is that what you want?”

José’s breath catches. “Sometimes you can’t get what you want.”

“Come back to my room,” James pleads.

José looks at the carpet under their feet. James tries to trace the ornate pattern with his eyes, but he just goes cross-eyed so he gives up and looks back at José. 

José sighs heavily. 

“Okay.”

James pulls him down the hall, fingers interlocked, and pauses every few steps to look back at him. As if to check that he’s still there. 

José catches him looking and squeezes his hand.

James lets them into his room and barely manages to close the door before José grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him into another kiss. They stumble back against the dresser and James bumps his hip into the corner, knocking an ice bucket onto the floor. José rakes his hands down James’s back and under his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it aside. James’s cross dangles from his neck, glistening in the dim light of the hotel room.

José pushes him back against the wall and reaches for his belt. He yanks James’s belt open and shoves at his pants. James pushes them down to his knees and José spits into his palm before reaching into James’s boxers.

José wraps his hand around James’s dick. James tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

“Wanna fuck you,” José says, mouthing against James’s shoulder through his shirt. 

“Good lord.” James pushes his cock into José’s fist. “That’s what you want?”

José leans in, licks at James’s lips. “Want you under me. Begging for it. Calling my name.”

James grips him by the shoulders, fucks the tight circle of his fist. “What’s gotten into you.”

“You wanna know what I want. That’s what I want.”

“Okay,” James says.

“You’re sure?” 

“Yeah.” James shudders and presses his face against José’s shoulder. “I already told you before. I’ll do anything you want.” 

José laughs and strokes the back of James’s neck. “That’s not what you said.”

“What’d I say?”

“You’ll do anything with me.” José strokes his hand down James’s back.

“You remembered that?” 

“You know I did.” 

José steps back and James watches him, curious, before he sinks to his knees and runs his hands slowly up James’s thighs, almost reverently. James runs his fingers through José’s hair.

José rubs his cheek against James’s thigh. Leans in and licks at the glistening head of James’s cock in light, teasing strokes. José’s stubble scratches in all the best places. James will have beard burn on his thighs that he hopes he doesn’t have to explain away in the morning when he gets to the ballpark. Part of him doesn’t care, though. Part of him likes the idea of having something no one else will understand.

José takes him into his mouth, one hand ending up between his legs, cupping and massaging his balls. James knocks the back of his head against the wall and a picture frame rattles precariously.

He feels José’s laugh.

José slips James’s dick out of his mouth and wipes at his face. There’s a smear of something across his lips that sends a lick of flame down James’s spine. He stands up, slowly, and crowds in on James, backing him into the wall.

“Come to bed with me.” José leans in and kisses him, chastely. 

James slips a hand around his neck and kisses him back. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

They climb into bed together and José grabs at James’s shoulders, guiding him where he wants him. James ends up on his stomach, with José draped heavily over his back.

James can’t remember the last time José fucked him, but it’s been a while. His fingers are cool and slick as they work him open and James feels strangely self-conscious as José fingers him, even though they’ve done this before. They’ve done this more times than James can count, and yet everything feels brand new and weird and strange. José’s movements are deliberate as he adds a second finger and then a third, and James feels like he’s going to come apart at the seams.

He hides his face and focuses on his breathing. 

James loses himself to the feeling. To José. He thinks he could come like this, José’s fingers buried in his ass and his cock rubbing against the comforter. But José has other plans tonight.

It isn’t comfortable, not at first. James doesn’t even know if he likes it or not. José is pressed against his back and James is pressing into the mattress, and it’s just uncomfortable. Until it’s not. Until José starts moving and James starts moving against him. José holds him by the hips and whispers things in James’s ear that he can’t make out.

José’s weight is heavy against his back. He bites James’s neck and soothes away the sting with his tongue. James starts to tremble underneath him. 

“You’re doing good,” José says, teeth grazing the shell of James’s ear.

James presses his face into a pillow. José’s hands rub down his back.

José snaps his hips, hitting this spot that nearly sets James’s brain on fire. James stifles a groan, swallows it down. He’s going to choke on it. 

“C’mon,” José urges, tapping at James’s shoulder. “Don’t hide from me.”

James bites hard on the inside of his cheek. Everything is threatening to spill out now. He’s gotta keep it together somehow or, fuck. One little crack and the whole thing might come toppling down.

“James,” José continues, touching his shoulder, “ _please_.”

“Fuck.” James twists the comforter in his hands and pushes his forehead into the mattress. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Better. Use your words.” José stops moving to lean across James’s back and dig his chin into his shoulder. “What do you want?”

James clutches at the comforter and laughs, breathlessly. “I want you to start moving.”

“What do you say?”

“Please?” James tries.

José laughs and starts moving again, fingers digging into James’s hips. One of his hands rubs in circles in the small of James’s back.

James’s chest feels tight, full of knots. 

José reaches around James’s hip and wraps his hand around his cock. He starts jerking him off, slowly at first, and it doesn’t take long. 

The knots in James’s chest come loose.

He’s spilling into José’s hand, onto the sheets. José’s teeth are on his shoulder, his hands are on his hips, and he’s whispering again. James can’t hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. 

“José,” James is saying. “José. Fuck.”

“I’m here.” José presses a kiss between his shoulder blades.

It’s a while before James realizes he’s shaking. He must have blanked out for a moment. José is still pressed against his back, still buried inside him, but he’s not moving anymore. 

James presses his forehead against his arm. He can’t stop shaking. It wasn’t even that good. It was okay. It was just okay.

He feels José’s hands run down his back. “You good?”

James rubs at his face. He breathes out slowly. Drags in a harsh breath. “Yeah.”

It sounds like like a lie.

“You sure?” José pulls away, gentle, always so damn gentle. 

James stays there on his stomach, on damp, messy sheets, trying to gather himself back together. 

It was just okay.

James rolls over onto his back and José curls into his side. He blinks up at the ceiling.

José leans in and kisses his chest, over his heart. 

James rests his cheek against the top of José’s head and loops an arm around his shoulders. 

“James,” José begins, but James cuts him short. 

“Just… Leave it.” James tightens his arm around José’s shoulders. “Whatever you’re gonna say. Just leave it for tonight.”

“You don’t know what I was gonna say,” José says.

James tips his head back against one of the pillows and closes his eyes. This isn’t at all how he’d been expecting this night to go. James had figured he’d go out drinking with his college buddies, maybe pick up a girl and bring her back to his room. Not doing this with José, again.

It feels like he’s tied to José and no matter how far he gets, he always gets pulled back into José. Or José gets pulled back into him. 

“What were you gonna say?” James asks.

José drops his head onto James’s shoulder and sighs softly. He rubs in circles on James’s stomach, tracing looping patterns with his fingertips. “You gave up your plans.”

“Plans?” James covers José’s hand with his own, holds it still.

“For tonight. With your friends.” José slides his hand out from under James’s. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s fine. I’ll just text them or something.” James presses his mouth against José’s shoulder. 

José sits up and turns to James. He looks troubled, worry lines creasing his forehead. “I’m happy you did. It’s not nice for me to say, but I’m happy you…” He sighs again and looks at the wall.

James tucks a pillow under his chin and just watches José look at the blank white wall. “Go on. What were you gonna say?”

José shakes his head and curls his hands into fists in his lap. “James.”

James reaches out for him. “It’s okay.”

José clenches his fists before letting go and flexing his fingers. “I don’t know.”

James circles José’s wrist with his fingers. Holds on gently. “Whatever it is… It’s fine.”

José looks down at James’s hand on his wrist. “I’m happy you picked me. I feel bad for it.”

“Why?” James asks.

“Selfish.” José jerks his shoulders in an awkward shrug.

James sits up and pulls José against his chest. His arms find their way around James’s waist. James smoothes a hand down his back. 

He feels like his chest is going to explode. 

“You’re way better company,” James says, rubbing José’s back. “I’m glad I chose you.”

José pulls back and, for a moment, James worries that he’s said the wrong thing again. That José will leave. But José is looking at him like he’s really seeing him for the very first time. 

James isn’t sure what to do with this, isn’t sure what it all means. He wants it to mean everything. 

José touches his cheek. His fingertips are soft and gentle. “I think—I think that’s why I’m always coming back. I’m always going and coming back.”

James sits there, silent, waits for him to keep going. Savors José’s hand on his cheek.

“I chose you too,” José says. 

James tries to speak and fails. Clears his throat and tries again. “I just… I just want you to stick around. It’s intense sometimes, I get it. And I get that you gotta take off. But I—”

“It’s a lot,” José says. “It’s a lot all at once. _You’re_ a lot.”

James reaches up and squeezes José’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“No. No, I like that. I like you.” José smiles at him. It’s an honest smile, warm and affectionate. “I like you.”

“I dunno why you do. I’m always pushing you,” James says.

“You’re sweet too, sometimes,” José says, leaning in and shoving his smiling face at James. 

Normally, it would be annoying and James would probably shove him away. But it’s José.

“There’s gotta be someone else out there you’d probably be happier with,” James mutters.

“Maybe. Probably there is,” José says, climbing into James’s lap and pushing him down. 

James rubs his hands up José’s arms. “Yeah? So what’re you still doing here with me?”

“I’m happy like this,” José says.

James tugs José down on top of him. “You could do better.”

José catches James’s lips in a brief kiss. “I don’t want better.”

James slips his arms around José and holds onto him. He feels lucky and afraid and happy and even a little relieved, though he’s not sure why. 

Everything is still threatening to spill out. 

“I don’t feel like I’m nice enough or sweet enough, or whatever it is you think I am,” James says, tightening his arms around José. “I don’t think I’m anywhere close to being any of those things. And I—I think you should be with somebody like that. Somebody who’s sweet and nice and good.”

“James—” José starts to protest.

James cuts him short with a soft kiss on the lips. “ _You’re_ sweet and nice and good. And I just bring you down. Every time. But I don’t want you to find someone else who’s better or nicer. I want you to stay with me.”

José smiles up at him—big and bright and brilliant—and James feels struck by it. His ears are ringing.

“All right, then,” José says. “I guess I’ll stick around.”

“Good.” James bends down and kisses him on the forehead. He lingers, stroking his thumb over José’s cheek. “That’s all I want.”

José shifts his gaze to the side. “ _Te amo mucho mi vida._ ”

“What?” James curls around José and puts his head on his chest.

José flushes and reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “I—I’m just being silly.”

“Tell me,” James says, catching hold of José’s hands. 

He shakes his head and laughs softly. “Is embarrassing.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” James kisses José’s knuckles.

“Promise,” José says, tightening his hands around James’s.

“I promise.”

José takes a deep breath before moving in closer, pulling James against him. “I love you very much,” he says, pausing to kiss the corner of James’s mouth. “My darling.”

James picks up one of José’s hands and studies the thick callus on his palm. Studies his rough knuckles, his neatly trimmed fingernails. Brings José’s palm against his lips and kisses it. Holds José’s palm against his chest, over his jackrabbit heartbeat, and says nothing.

His heart hurts. It feels like a giant bruise sitting in his chest.

“José,” James says.

“I didn’t want to tell you.” José tries to pull his hand back, but James won’t let go.

“It’s fine.” James looks up at him. “You—you’re really important to me.”

José’s face falls, for just the briefest of moments, before he puts the smile back on. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re important to me too.”

James sighs and presses his forehead against José’s hand. “Don’t do that. I—I—you know how I feel about you, don’t you?”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” José asks, shaking his head.

James pushes José against the mattress and looms over him. José hikes his eyebrows. James stares down at him, at his hands on José’s chest. At the fading marks on his neck and chest and shoulders. 

He feels like he’s going to explode. His heart is going to leap out of his chest.

“I can’t,” he says, finally.

“You don’t?” José tries to smile, touches the back of James’s hand. “It’s okay.”

“No. I mean…” James closes his eyes hard and digs his fingers into José’s soft, smooth skin. “It doesn’t—it isn’t enough.”

José sighs. “I don’t understand.”

“Anyone can say the words,” James says, “and they don’t even have to mean anything.”

José nods slowly. “So…”

“I want to be good to you. But I _know_ I won’t. I’ll fuck it up somehow. Then what good are the words?” James asks, touching José’s face. He brushes his thumb over the curve of his eyebrow. “Why would you ever believe me?”

José wraps his hands around James’s. He doesn’t try to push him away or pull him closer, just holds on. “I know you. I know who you are.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” James asks.

“It’s… It means I already know all that. I already know you’re an asshole,” José says, laughing quietly. He pushes James off his chest and sits up. “I don’t care about that. Maybe I like when you’re an asshole. Maybe I just like you.”

James stares at him and tries to fight the knot in his throat. “Y—you should be with—”

“Push me down, I’ll get back up. And I’ll push you back.” José throws James onto his back and holds his face in his hands and kisses him.

José’s teeth are sharp on James’s bottom lip and he tastes blood. 

James smiles against José’s mouth and rains down light kisses over his lips and his cheek and jawline. His lip stings where José’s teeth broke though the skin and he pokes his tongue at it. 

James is finally able to find his words. 

“I do,” he says, almost too quiet for José to hear. “You know. I do love you.”

James doesn’t wait for José to respond. He pulls him into another kiss, and then another and another and another. José’s arms encircle his neck like a yoke. James bites and sucks at his throat hard enough to leave a bruise.

The sun’s already peaking through the plastic blinds when they finally come back up for air. 

And then José’s alarm goes off. 

They laugh all the way to the shower.

James soaps up José’s back for him, and José does the same, taking a moment to prod at sensitive spots on James’s back and over his ribs. José sucks a mark into the back of James’s neck while James traces their initials in the steam on the shower door.

It’s going to be a long day. Kansas City summers are brutal. 

James pushes José back against the slick tile and kisses him under the shower spray. The warm water goes lukewarm, circles the drain, but James keeps José pressed into the wall until he’s clawing at his back, begging him for it.

James hoists him up against the wall, reaching down to hook José’s legs around his waist. Then he’s pushing in, holding him against the wall, maybe fucking him a little too hard because José bumps his head against the tile. But he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s laughing, winding his arms around James’s soapy neck. James slips on the tile a bit—and his life, José’s life flashes before his eyes and how the fuck would they ever explain _that_ to the coaches and training staff—but he manages to brace a hand against the wall and find a position that works for both of them.

“Yes, fuck, _mi cielo_.” José is loud in his ear, over the rush of the water.

James grips him around the waist and lifts him, brings him back down on his cock. “You like that?”

“Yes. Keep going.” José rakes his fingers in James’s wet hair.

It’s not the best sex James has ever had. Yeah, he’s definitely given it better than this before, but James is fucking José against the tile and José’s hands are pulling at his hair and he’s bouncing on his cock and the shower water is freezing cold now. It pricks at his skin like needles. José is nothing but heat.

“Fuck, I’m close, I’m gonna,” José mumbles in James’s ear.

“C’mon.” James grinds to a halt, slips a hand between their wet, slippery bodies, and starts jerking him off. “Come for me.”

It’s not that long before José shudders against him and clenches his fingers on James’s back, his cock pulsing in James’s hand. José bangs the back of his head on the tile and mutters a curse under his breath.

James gives José a few minutes to catch his breath. Pins him against the shower door and holds onto him.

“Can I…” James shifts his hips and José moans weakly into his shoulder. 

“Yeah.” José slips out of James’s arms and turns, leaning forward and putting a hand on the wall. “Like this.”

James grabs his hip and guides himself back in. José presses his forehead against the wall and groans.

James rubs a hand down José’s back. “You sure about this?” 

“Do it.” José’s fingernails scrape against the shiny tile.

James buries his face in José’s shoulder, grasps him tightly around the waist, and drives relentlessly toward his own release. José lets himself be loud, lets himself gasp and moan and curse. He reaches behind to touch James’s cheek, his shoulder, his arm, grabs his hip and squeezes. James can feel José trembling in his arms as he fucks him.

James brushes his lips over José’s ear. “You’re doing so good. I’m almost there, I’m so close.”

José clings to the arm that’s wrapped around his chest. His legs are shaking. When he speaks, his voice shakes too. “Please, James. I need you.”

James is close, just needs a little bit of a push. He wraps his other arm around José’s neck and holds him against his chest. José tips his head back onto James’s shoulder. Tears leak out of the corners of his eyes and James pauses to wipe them off his face. His fingers are digging almost painfully into the fleshy part of James’s arm now.

“You good?” James asks.

José nods, eyes still shut. James caresses his throat, runs his fingers over his Adam’s apple. He closes his hand around his throat, gentle. Gives a few more long, deep thrusts, hips stuttering, before he gets _there_ too. 

José’s head lolls on James’s shoulder and he thinks, for a moment, he’s passed out. But his lips are moving, and he’s saying things under his breath. James strokes his throat, pants into the wet, curly hair atop José’s head and struggles to catch his breath. His heartbeat is running away from him. José can probably feel it pounding against his back, working overtime. 

When James finally moves away, slips his hand off José’s throat, José sags against the wall bonelessly. James takes him by the shoulders, keeps him upright. José licks at his lip, even smirks a little, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“C’mon,” James says, squeezing gently on the back of José’s neck, “it wasn’t _that_ good.”

José turns and opens his eyes. “My soul left my body.”

James laughs and catches his lips in a quick kiss. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“I don’t need it. I got you.” José punches him playfully in the chest.

James takes hold of his fists. “We should get goin’.”

“Yeah.” José rubs his thumb across James’s knuckles before slipping out of the shower to gather up his discarded clothes and pull them on. 

James stands back and watches him pull his shirt down, flatten it against his chest. Watches him step into his boxers and pants. He doesn’t want him to go. 

“I, uh. I’ll see you around.” James leans in and brushes his lips against José’s temple.

José turns his head, smiling lips grazing James’s, fingers curling around his arm. “Yeah. See you.”

James finally lets José go. He opens the door and slips through, shutting it quietly behind him. 

There’s an uneasy peace in the quiet that follows once James is alone. He doesn’t like it. 

James throws on some clothes and goes down to join the rest of his teammates for the bus ride to the park.

***

When they get back to Detroit a couple days later, summer’s already starting to bleed into early fall. Kansas City had thrown one-hundred degrees and sixty percent humidity at them, in a last gasp at summer, but in Detroit the green on the trees is starting to turn shades of yellow and red and orange and the air is crisper.

Something about the looming end of summer knocks James off kilter. 

He stopped hitting on the roadtrip, and he’s not playing now that they’re back home. Alex has been swinging a hot stick and there’s a lot of right handed pitching coming up, so James finds himself glued to the bench for the foreseeable future. He’d never dream of complaining, but it sucks. It sucks to sit on the bench and do nothing but just watch. There’s absolutely nothing James hates more than watching his team go to battle, watching his team lose and knowing he can’t do anything to help. 

He needs to play. He needs to get his game right. He needs José.

They’ve got an offday today, though. For just a little while, James can press **pause**. He decides to make the twenty minute drive downtown to see José. 

He’s never been to José’s place, though he’s had the coordinates plugged into his GPS for months. José’s always come over to his place, or they’ve gotten together at hotels on the road. James supposes he’s never seen the need to go to José’s when they can just go to his place in the suburbs. 

As James sets the GPS on the dashboard and puts in José’s address, he finds himself wishing he had done this sooner. Just the thought of seeing José makes him feel a little better about things. The baseball will solve itself in time. This is something he needs to do.

James manages to shave five minutes off the estimated travel time and pulls into José’s lot fifteen minutes later. He’s relieved to find José’s car is sitting outside his condo. There are dried out husks of helicopter leaves on the windshield, trapped under the wipers. James walks over, brushes some of them away, before heading up the stone path to José’s place.

James buzzes in and stands back and waits. 

Turns out he doesn’t have to wait long. The door flies open a couple minutes later. José frowns and squints at him, scratching his fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. 

“What?” James asks, rolling his eyes at José’s apparent bewilderment. “I can’t come see you?”

“Didn’t even think you know where I live,” José says, waving James inside. “You don’t come by before.”

James steps inside and José closes the door behind him. Evening’s giving way to dusk, and in the dimly lit entrance, shadows fall all over. José is draped in them and James’s heart leaps into his throat. 

“Was in the area. Thought I’d just stop by,” James lies, trying to sound nonchalant and missing by a mile.

“Uh huh.” José clearly doesn’t believe him but he takes James by the hand anyway, opening the door to his place and pulling him inside.

Once they’re safely in José’s condo, James grabs him around the waist and buries his face in the back of his neck. José just stands there and pats James’s hand gently.

It feels weird. José’s in his arms, where he belongs, but he still feels distant. 

“You want a drink?” he asks, gently unwinding James’s arm around around his neck.

James drinks in the sight of him instead. “Not really.” 

“I’m gonna make myself something, then,” José says, turning to go.

“No, wait.” James touches his arm and José looks back at him, his dark eyes unreadable.

James hates that he still can’t read him. He’s never been able to, not in the few years he’s known him. Not in the however many months they’ve been sleeping together. 

“You change your mind then?” José lifts his eyebrows.

James leaves his hand on José’s arm. “Why are you…” He trails off.

“Why am I what?” José tips his chin up.

“José, what’s going on?” James asks.

José cuts his gaze away. “I…I had time to think.”

James’s stomach sinks like a stone. “What do you mean?”

José lifts his hands like he’s going to touch James, but he stops just short of putting his hands on his chest. His hands hover over James and James stands there wishing José would just put his hands on him. 

“It’s not enough.”

“What?” James’s fingers itch to reach out and touch him. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“You and me. It’s not. We’ll never be normal. I can’t just do this—” José grabs onto James’s hand. “—in public. We have to steal everything we have. Every moment. It’s not enough.”

James laughs. He feels like doing anything except laughing, but he can’t help it. He just starts laughing. 

He clings onto José’s hand. “It is for me.” 

“It won’t work, it won’t _last_.” José shakes his head and twists his hand out of James’s grip. 

“Stop tryin’ to push me away, José. Please.” James reaches for him again, but José pulls his hands back. Something about that squeezes around James’s heart, twists it and wrings it out like a wet towel. 

José lowers his head and rubs his fists in his eyes, shoulders shaking. James feels like he’s eavesdropping and so he directs his gaze to the wall. To a small framed picture of José in Red Sox gear, an arm thrown over the shoulders of an old man in a red ballcap. 

“I don’t _want_ this. I want you,” José says quietly. “But it won’t—”

“I don’t care.” James looks back at him. José’s eyes are shimmering and his lashes are wet, which James tries not to think about too hard. “We can do this. We can be happy.”

“There’s always something.” José wipes his nose on his sleeve. 

“There’ll always be something.” James slides a hand over José’s cheek before he can protest. He brushes away the wetness with his thumb. “I’m askin’ you. Beggin’ you. Please.”

José’s eyes shine with more wetness and James prays silently that they don’t overflow. “I’m afraid.”

“What’s scarin’ you so bad?” James asks.

“All of this. You, me. Everything. Everything we do to each other. Everything we’ll do,” José whispers. It sounds like a broken prayer. 

“I want it. I want every awful, terrible thing we’re gonna do to each other,” James says. His arms find their own way around José’s waist. “I want you to hurt me.”

José shakes his head. “I don’t get you.”

“You got me.” James brushes his lips against José’s cheek tenderly.

José blows out a long, whistling breath. His eyelashes flutter against James’s cheek. “I’m still…”

“I know.” James kisses him, fingers sliding into his hair. “I am too.”

José wraps his arms around James’s neck and then he’s kissing him back, and James loses himself in it. José’s in his arms and James is kissing him and it’s all he needs. 

The rest of it will sort itself in its own good time. James’s game will come back to him. He’ll get more playing time when they see a few more left handed pitchers or Alex cools off, whichever comes first. 

They won’t make the postseason, but there’s always next year.

***

James spreads a blanket out on the beach and sinks down slowly. He’s too tall for it, so he digs his feet in the sand, lets it squish between his toes. Aquamarine waves crash against the surf. James pulls his sunglasses out of his pocket and slides them over his eyes.

He feels someone settle on the blanket next to him. James reaches out blindly and his hand collides with a knee. He moves his hand lower, tracing his fingers over calf and ankle, to knobby anklebone. 

“They don’t have any lemon ice anymore. Sold out.” José pushes a popsicle into James’s groping hand. “I got you a Captain America popsicle.”

James pushes his sunglasses off his face and looks up at José. “Seriously?”

José has slashes of white sunscreen under his cheeks how he’d normally wear eyeblack. His nose is a bit redder than usual. His floppy hat is hanging from his neck by the cord. “You like Captain America.”

James unwraps the popsicle and starts slurping away noisily. “Yeah, this isn’t inappropriate or anything,” he teases, nudging his elbow into José’s bare side.

“I said nothing.” José takes off his floppy hat and puts it on James’s head. 

“You didn’t need to.” James continues to work on the popsicle as he scans the beach, José resting comfortably against his side. 

No one’s recognized them here. For all anyone knows, they’re just a couple friends hanging out on the beach getting sticky popsicle residue all over their hands and faces. James is just some guy—well on his way to sunburnt—enjoying the beach and the ocean and the person pressed into his side.

“Here, you need some lotion,” José is saying, as he starts crawling behind James on the blanket. “I tried catching sandpipers.”

James twists around, craning his neck. “Sandpipers?”

“Birds. They’re all fat and tiny.” José brings out the suntan lotion and squeezes a mess of it into his palm. He takes James by the shoulder. “This’ll be cold.”

José starts working the lotion into James’s shoulders, fingers digging into muscles he hadn’t realized were aching. José brackets James between his legs and James settles back, comfortable and loose-limbed and _happy_.

“You catch any?” James asks, wondering what birds have to do with anything.

“Nope.” José moves his hands down James’s back. “I wanna stay here forever. I like the water. Reminds me of home.”

James slides a hand over José’s leg. “Cuba.”

“Mm, yeah,” José says, as he continues to massage his fingers in circles on James’s back. “It’s beautiful back home.”

“You miss it,” James says, curling a hand around José’s calf. “You’ll go back someday.”

“Maybe.” José slips his hands away from James’s back and drapes an arm over his shoulder. “I like it here too.”

“Me too.” James tips his head back onto José’s shoulder and closes his eyes. The hat slips off his head and lands in the sand. “It’s nice here.”

“We’ll have to go back someday,” José says, scratching his nails lightly on James’s chest. 

“Not yet.” James pulls José’s arm over his chest and holds on.

He feels José’s mouth press into his hair. 

No, not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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